


kick drums on your bedroom door

by farseersfool



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Future Fic, Kuroo Is Not Subtle, M/M, gratuitous text messaging, they're all ~20 and in college
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 17:15:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9334820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farseersfool/pseuds/farseersfool
Summary: "You sent me pity nudes.""I did, yes."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Siseja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siseja/gifts).



> For [Siseja](http://siseja.tumblr.com/). I had too much fun with this.
> 
> Inspired by [this prompt](https://68.media.tumblr.com/46eb9ddb59e5a4203ba036674de8d009/tumblr_oj5m0qOcsU1scy8beo1_1280.png)
> 
> Title from No Salesman by Jordan Klassen

Daichi had just lived through what had to be the worst day anyone had ever experienced, ever.

It had started when his phone alarm had decided that, you know what, he didn’t _really_ need to wake up for that history class, never mind that exam today, and hadn’t gone off. He’d awakened ten minutes before class started to a suspiciously bright dorm room, and when the reality of the situation had sunk in, he’d literally leapt out of bed, and, not caring that he was wearing nothing but a pair of sleep pants with a pattern of kittens and yarn balls on them, thrown on a hoodie and sprinted to the building his class was held in.

He’d arrived ten minutes late, out of breath and ready to pant out his explanation, but the TA administering the exam had just rolled her eyes, handed him a packet, and directed him toward an empty desk in the front.

That was possibly the only bit of luck he’d had the entire day. He’d opened the test only to discover that the hours he’d spent the night before, reading and rereading his textbook and notes, quizzing himself, _writing a goddamn practice essay_ , were all for nothing—he’d been studying the wrong _century._ So, needless to say, it hadn’t gone well.

After he’d given up and turned in his answer sheet, Daichi figured he should _maybe_ head back to his room, take a shower, and put on some real clothes before his next class—only to discover that, in his haste, he’d left his keys in the room, and he was locked out. He’d left his cell phone, too, so he couldn’t even text his roommate to come by and let him in.

He’d sighed and gone onto his statistics class, still looking uncharacteristically slovenly and feeling worse than he looked. Stats had been...well, not terrible, but he’d had trouble focusing, and knew he wouldn’t retain any of the lecture.

After that class he usually had lunch at the student center or back in his room, but no wallet and no room key meant he’d have to go hungry, and he made the mistake of wondering how it could _possibly_ get worse from there.

That was the exact moment it had started raining.

Honestly, ‘raining’ was an understatement. The sky had broken open, pouring forth an apocalyptic deluge, sheets of water pelting toward the ground with enough force to bruise.

His last class of the day was all the way across campus. After the morning he’d had, he was ready to skip, and give up on this absolute hell day, but attendance was 50% of the grade and he’d already missed once when he’d had a cold. Cold, miserable, wet, and hungry, Daichi had sighed, and walked to his class, shoes squelching as they filled with water before he was even halfway there.

That had been the end of it, for the most part—well, except for the bit where he’d gotten hit by a bike on the walk back and been knocked into a mud puddle, but that had just seemed to be par for the course at that point. When he’d arrived at his dorm room, his roommate had been blessedly present and able to let him in. The guy, thankfully as unfriendly as ever, had just raised an eyebrow at Daichi’s bedraggled appearance, and gone back to whatever he was typing on his laptop.

Finally, _finally,_ he had been able to eat something, shower, and put on dry, clean clothes. After that, he was _done._ No matter that it was only 8:30 PM on a Friday night, he was going to bed.

He’d just managed to drift off when his phone buzzed loudly on the mattress near his face, startling him back into wakefulness.

Groggily, he unlocked the screen and read the message.

Daichi sighed, and remembered that Kuroo _had_ said something about going to a party tonight. Given everything that had happened, he’d completely forgotten.

He typed out a response, editing and rewriting a few times before he settled on one and sent it.

The reply was almost instantaneous.

Daichi sighed, not having the energy to explain everything in detail, so he wrote a bare-bones summary of his day and hit send.

He got several replies: the first two were just a series of crying emojis, but the third contained an actual message:

He was tempted, for a moment—having a drink or six sounded nice, after the day he’d had—but another wave of exhaustion hit him and he decided against it.

In reply, Bokuto just sent him another series of sad-face emojis.

And that was one of the things he’d expected _least_ about university. If anyone had told him, before graduating from high school, that he’d end up being remarkably good friends with the captains of Fukurodani and Nekoma, he’d have laughed in their faces, but now, with almost a year and a half of university under his belt, it had become just one more part of his life.

See—about a week after he’d moved into his dorm, on his very first day of classes, he’d noticed two sets of very distinctive and very familiar hair through a crowd on campus. At almost the same moment, a very distinctive and _very familiar_ shit-eating smirk had confirmed that he’d been spotted and recognized also.

And that was how Daichi found out that he’d ended up at the same university as Bokuto Koutarou and Kuroo Tetsurou.

And since then, he hadn’t been able to get rid of them.

Well, that was putting it too harshly. He always had a lot of fun when he hung out with Kuroo and Bokuto. They were fun to be around. They weren’t the kind of people he studied with—Bokuto couldn’t sit still that long and Kuroo liked to rile the both of them up too much for anyone to get any work done. Nor were they the kind of people he generally talked to about serious or personal matters—he still reserved those for his weekly Skype chats with Suga or his less-frequent phone calls to his mom. But if he wanted to goof off, to play a casual game of volleyball, or just to get out of his dorm for a while, he knew he was guaranteed to have a great time if they were there, no matter _what_ they ended up doing.

Anyway, that was how it was when _both_ of them were around. Since starting their second year at school, though, things had been a little different when he met up with Kuroo alone. He’d been…attentive, to say the least. Flirty, maybe, though Daichi was sure he was reading too much into it. He was just like that. But then, when that was combined with what had happened at the club the month before…But, well, neither he nor Kuroo had ever mentioned that again, and Daichi was honestly about 80% sure, at this point, that it had been an alcohol-induced hallucination.

(He’d spent a lot of time avoiding dwelling on whether or not he _wanted_ it to have happened.)

Any weird dynamics aside, there was no doubt they really had become good friends, Bokuto, Kuroo, and him. He was glad they’d improbably ended up at university together, not that he would ever say so to either of them.

Regardless, he couldn’t dwell on it any more right now—he was dry and warm and comfortable for the first time all day, and there was nothing he could do to keep the exhaustion at bay.

-

When his phone buzzed, he started, afraid it was somehow that morning again and he was about to miss his history test.

But no, it was the middle of the night and everything was as it should be. He was alone in the room—his roommate disappeared during the night a lot; Daichi figured he had a girlfriend or something. (Bokuto, on the other hand, suspected he was a vigilante hero, like in the American comic books, and spent those absent nights and weekends fighting crime. Daichi doubted this not only on the basis of it being ridiculous, but because his roommate didn’t have a _fraction_ of the charisma to pull off a double-life like that.)

Blinking away the grogginess at being awoken suddenly, Daichi unlocked his phone and opened the message.

Just as Daichi was beginning to type a reply (in the form of a long series of question marks), the phone buzzed again with an incoming picture message.

With trepidation, he opened it, a hundred possibilities flashing through his mind.

But he never, in a million years, could have dreamed that _this_ was what he’d see.

There, in all the high-resolution glory his phone’s display screen could muster, was an image of Kuroo, his dark red shirt rucked up over his stomach and chest, showing off the muscles of his torso brilliantly. The shirt was also...all he was wearing in the photo.

Before he really had time to process this, the phone buzzed with more incoming photos. Here, a porn-worthy view of chiseled thighs and ass. Here, another shot of chest and shoulders and hips. Here, the quintessential dick pic.

Daichi stared for a long moment, slowly swiping back and forth between the photos, halfway between _stunned_ and _appalled_ and _damn, he looks good._

There was one thing, though.

He opened the field to reply.

The reply was almost instant.

Daichi wasn’t entirely sure what else to say. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole thing. He went for a neutral response.

The reply, once again, took only seconds. A moment later, he received another message.

Still unsure, and a little miffed at the easy, blasé attitude Kuroo seemed to have about all this—as if friends casually sent each other ‘cheer up’ nudes on a regular basis—he replied, a little childishly:

The next message didn’t come for a few minutes, and Daichi had begun to wonder if he’d actually managed to offend Kuroo when his phone buzzed again.

Daichi didn’t reply to that for a long while. He _couldn’t._ He was trying to make sense of this all. Apparently, all the innuendo, the recent flirting...it _clearly_ wasn’t just in his head. But what did it mean? What did Kuroo _want_ from him? They were friends, _good_ friends, who...sent (really nice) nudes and heavily implied that they wanted the other to jerk off to them.

And that meant that he probably _hadn’t_ imagined that night at the club, the music deafening, the beat hypnotic, the whiskey a fire in his throat and belly that was only a mirror to the heat he’d felt as his lips slid against that other person’s mouth, felt teeth on his throat as he tangled his hands in familiar, messy black hair.

So they were friends who had probably (definitely) gotten drunk together and had maybe (most assuredly) made out a little (a lot).

Well. That changed things.

However, the returning clarity of that memory made him need to know _._

The wait for the reply was almost painful.

And _oh,_ well, that changed things too.

As did the next message that came in.

Breathing out a sigh and a silent prayer that he knew what he was doing, Daichi sent back a single word:

And then he settled back to stare at the water-stained ceiling tiles of his dorm room for the rest of the night, because he certainly wasn’t sleeping after that.

And, no, no matter that he’d gotten consent or that a tiny part of him wanted to, he was _not_ masturbating to nude pictures of Kuroo.

(That didn’t stop him from looking at them again, though.)

(And again.)

(And again.)

-

He must have eventually drifted back off, because he was jerked out of sleep by the jarringly chirpy sound of his ringtone. Who was calling him this early, at…a glance at the wall clock showed that it was half past 11 AM, so, okay, that was a fairly reasonable time, actually.

He blinked a few times to clear the grit from his eyes before grabbing his phone. No one but his mom _ever_ called him...well, Bokuto had butt-dialed him more than once, but aside from those two, he never really received calls.

He was surprised and a little flustered to see Kuroo’s name on the caller ID.

More by instinct than anything else, he answered.

“Hello?” He said, then cleared his throat as his voice came out rough from sleep.

“Still asleep at almost noon? Well that explains why you haven’t answered any of my texts,” he said, breezily, casually, like he hadn’t sent the person he was talking to pictures of his unclothed body mere hours before.

“The real question is when you turned into such a morning person,” Daichi grumbled, sitting up and letting his feet dangle off the edge of the bed.

“I really don’t think you have to qualify as a ‘morning person’ to be up by, again, _almost noon,”_ Kuroo said, a touch of mockery coloring the end of the sentence.

Before Daichi could reply, he went on, “Anyway, as I’ve been _trying_ to find out for the last 20 minutes, what do you want from the bakery?”

“The bakery?” Daichi repeated dumbly, still not quite awake enough for this conversation.

“Yeah, the little French one down the street from the library.”

“Oh, uh, a chocolate croissant?” He said unthinkingly, and was surprised to feel his stomach rumble at the thought—though perhaps he shouldn’t have been. All he’d eaten in the past 36 hours or so had been that cup of instant noodles before bed the night before.

“You got it; I’ll be there in like half an hour,” Kuroo said and then immediately hung up on him.

Daichi blinked a few more times at the abruptness, then shrugged, and looked at the texts he’d missed out of curiosity.

He snorted and rolled his eyes, though he was inwardly a little grateful that Kuroo had called him instead of making good on his threat—Daichi _hated_ coconut ever since he’d taken...too many shots of coconut rum at his very first college party and had been hungover and miserable for a full 48 hours afterwards.

But the amusement didn’t last long. He had to deal with what was going on—and he had to do it in the next 30 minutes, apparently.

(He had thought he’d get more time than that. At least long enough to talk to Suga about it. Suga was good at this kind of thing.)

So, as he busied himself by getting dressed, brushing his teeth, and tidying the room, he tried to think it through, rationally, methodically. He was, after all, a rational and methodical kind of guy—or at least he liked to think so.

So, question number one. Did he even find Kuroo attractive?

That was an easy one. He was a young, healthy, red-blooded bisexual man and he recognized a hot guy when he saw one. And if there had been _any_ doubt, his reaction to those photos would have dispelled it.

Which segued into the more difficult question of: What did he _want_ from Kuroo?

They were friends. That much was given. And he _liked_ the guy, no matter his irritating quirks and childish sense of humor. He was funny, and clever, and loyal, and surprisingly patient.

But was there more to it than that?

Data point 1: They had made out that one time.

Caveat: They had both been _very_ drunk at the time.

Data point 2: He liked spending time with Kuroo, just the two of them.

Caveat: He also liked hanging out with other people one-on-one, like Suga or Asahi or Bokuto, but he’d be mortified to see any of them naked, and he _certainly_ didn’t want to kiss them—oh.

Data point 3: He _wanted_ to kiss Kuroo again, apparently.

Caveat: ?????

That...pretty much settled it, really. But there was one question left.

What did Kuroo want from _him?_

When the knock sounded on his door, he figured that he’d find out the answer to that soon enough.

He hesitated, fingers inches from the doorknob, still a little uncertain, knowing that as soon as he opened the door, something was going to change.

So he took a deep breath, shook his head to clear it, and answered the door.

He was spared the effort of coming up with a witty greeting when a paper bag was shoved into his face the second the door was open wide enough to accommodate it.

Daichi spluttered at the unexpectedness of it, and only barely managed to grab the bag before it fell to the floor. By the time he had secured it in the crook of his arm, Kuroo had already pushed past him and was settling dramatically in his desk chair.

“Do you have _any_ idea how long I had to wait in line at that bakery?”

“Twenty minutes?” Daichi guessed as he perched on the edge of his bed, basing his estimation off the time he’d sent the first text.

“Wrong!” Kuroo exclaimed, extending an arm, “Twenty- _three_ minutes! These cran-apple-walnut galettes better be worth it.” He punctuated the statement by pulling something that looked kind of like a small, western-style pie out of another paper bag, while Daichi rolled his eyes at his _grievous_ miscalculation.

It did make him remember to look in his own bag, though, which contained, not one, but _two_ chocolate croissants.

“So why wait?” Daichi asked, pulling out one of the pastries, “There are three other restaurants on that block alone.”

Kuroo’s mouth was full, so he just gestured at Daichi with his bitten pie-thing, sending a shower of crumbs onto the floor. He made a mental note to sweep later.

“But it’s the only bakery,” he answered once he’d swallowed the bite. “And I had _intended_ to get a cake made.”

“A cake?” Daichi asked.

“A cake,” Kuroo agreed, and bit off another chunk of his pastry.

“Why?” Daichi pressed, and finally remembered to eat his croissant. It was _very_ good.

“Because,” Kuroo began, “It seemed like the only way to get through _someone’s_ thick skull. The cake was going to say, ‘hey, you idiot, for some unfathomable reason, I like you; can I please touch your sweet butt now?’ But _apparently_ cakes are expensive...and their custom orders are booked solid for the next month.”

Daichi blinked at him, dumbfounded, and had to remember to swallow the last bite of his pastry

“So, uh,” He began lamely, “Who...who was that going to be for?”

The look Kuroo gave him was one of long-suffering disappointment.

“This? This is why I wanted to get the cake.”

“Just making sure,” Daichi said with a nervous chuckle.

“I have not been subtle. Do you think I send pictures of my dick to just anyone?”

“Yeah, well...”

“ _Bokuto Koutarou_ picked up on it _weeks_ ago. _Bokuto Koutarou,_ who _still_ believes that his childhood hamster moved away to go live on a farm.”

“I...” Daichi sighed, “You have a point. I’m an idiot.”

“Admitting you have a problem is the first step towards recovery,” Kuroo said sagely.

Daichi rolled his eyes again. “Why _did_ you send those pictures?”

“Complaining?”

He opened his mouth, then shut it. Opened it again. Shut it.

“Just tell me why,” Daichi demanded, at length. He didn’t blush easily, but he was sure the tips of his ears were _glowing_ right now.

Kuroo smirked lasciviously, and said, “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t answer the question, but I’ll let it go for now. But to answer _yours_ , the lighting in that apartment’s bathroom was _amazing._ Keeping those pictures to myself would have been a crime against photography, no, against all of _art itself_.”

Before Daichi could ask, _‘_ _okay, sure,_ _but why take them in the first place?’_ Kuroo shrugged, his face going more neutral.

“And, I don’t know, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Well, it certainly made an impression,” Daichi said, after a long moment of increasingly uncomfortable silence.

“So you _did_ like them,” Kuroo replied, his voice going low and what he seemed to think was seductive _._ _(_ It kind of was, though.) He was leaning forward in the chair, now, trademark smirk wide across his face.

Daichi leaned back, looked away, certain he was visibly blushing now. “I never said that,” he muttered defensively, weakly, unconvincingly.

“You didn’t have to. Want an encore? Want to see this succulent ass in the flesh?”

And that was it, this was officially too absurd, too surreal, and Daichi just started _laughing_ so hard he could barely get a breath in.

Kuroo looked at him in bemusement for a long moment, but it seemed like Daichi’s amusement was infectious, because soon enough he was laughing too.

Finally able to control himself, Daichi wiped the corner of his eye, and said, “Okay, okay, that’s moving a little fast, but I’ll make you a deal, okay?”

“Oh yeah? Let’s hear it.” Kuroo said, trying vainly to force his face into neutrality. The effort was so apparent that Daichi ended up laughing again.

(Kuroo had that effect on him a lot, actually.)

“Okay, okay,” he said breathlessly, composing himself. “So here’s the deal: if you promise _never_ to use the words ‘succulent’ and ‘ass’ in the same sentence ever again, I’ll _consider_ kissing you.”

“And letting me touch your succulent ass?”

“The consideration is presently leaning towards _no._ Also, not all of us are easy. Buy me dinner first,” Daichi said, grinning. This still didn’t quite seem real, and he kind of felt like he was floating.

“I literally _just_ bought you breakfast. Twenty-three minutes of waiting, remember?” Kuroo gestured wildly at the bakery bag containing the remaining croissant.

“Well...okay, you’ve got me there,” he admitted.

“So I can touch your suc—”

“ _Don’t say succulent ass,”_ Daichi demanded, sighing heavily. “Still...I’d really like to start by kissing you while we’re both sober, if that’s alright with you.”

The smile that crept over Kuroo’s face at that wasn’t a smirk, wasn’t for show, but was real, and a little goofy, and so incredibly genuine that Daichi’s heart gave a little _thump_ in his chest. How had he not figured out how much he wanted this—wanted _him—_ until now _?_

“That’s alright with me,” Kuroo said, his voice sounding how his smile looked. “How does right now sound?”

Daichi laughed again, briefly, and said, “Impatient, are we?”

“I have been _so patient,_ ” Kuroo said, rolling his eyes. “Remember how _Bokuto_ figured out I was flirting with you before you did?”

“How long are you going to hold that over my head?” Daichi asked, but he was on his feet, taking a step toward the chair where Kuroo was sitting.

“As long as it’s taking for you to _kiss me already_.”

“That’s fair, I guess,” Daichi said, now standing over the chair. He put a hand around the back of Kuroo’s neck, tilting his face up, and leaned in.

The moment their lips touched, Daichi forgot anything else. He’d been on plenty of dates since starting college, kissed his fair share of people, but there had never been such an immediate spark. He guessed that was the chemistry thingpeople talked about.

Daichi braced his free hand on the desk behind Kuroo, whose hands went to his hips, at first just resting there, but as the kiss deepened, the grip came close to bruising.

Just as the arm holding Daichi’s weight began to ache, Kuroo changed his grip to hook fingers into his belt loops, and pulled him down.

Thrown off-balance, Daichi landed heavily on top of Kuroo, straddling his lap. Their noses collided, and he instinctively pulled back,

“That’s better,” Kuroo just about purred, and leaned in to capture Daichi’s mouth in another deep, open kiss, hot and almost desperate, maybe a little too much teeth and tongue, but neither of them were about to complain about that.

Daichi was just about to start rethinking his ‘not taking this too fast’ strategy when the grip on his hips migrated to his ass, startling him enough to break off the kiss.

“Sorry, sorry, should have asked,” Kuroo said, a little breathlessly, removing his hands to the relative safety of Daichi’s upper thighs. “But seriously, your ass is _fantastic._ ”

“Not _succulent_?” He asked, grinning.

“That too,” Kuroo confirmed, returning the grin.

“Well,” Daichi said, thinking back to the pictures he’d received so early that morning, “Yours isn’t so bad, either.”

“Understatement of the year,” Kuroo said, placing a brief, open kiss on Daichi’s jaw.

“And modest, too,” he murmured.

“Hey, if you got it, flaunt it.”

Daichi rolled his eyes, and said, “You know, if anyone had told me twenty-four hours ago that I’d be in your lap, mid-makeout, before one in the afternoon today, I wouldn’t have believed them.”

“Well, you don’t seem too upset by the development,” Kuroo replied.

“I guess not. Today’s at least shaping up to be better than yesterday was.”

“Wow, the bar was set really high,” Kuroo drawled sarcastically.

Daichi rolled his eyes _again—_ he had a feeling he’d be doing a lot of that—and decided to shut Kuroo up with another kiss.

He didn’t say it, but today was shaping up to be one of the best days he’d had in a long while.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus Kuroo & Kenma Texts:
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 


End file.
